


Four Myths about Jean Calvin that Exploded in Martin Luther's Face

by abigail89



Category: 16th Century CE RPF, Religious RPF
Genre: Historical, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, but did not have dinner, complete fabrication, john calvin and martin luther met in passing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-26
Updated: 2011-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-15 23:10:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/165826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin Luther is really curious about Jean Calvin the man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Myths about Jean Calvin that Exploded in Martin Luther's Face

**Author's Note:**

> John Calvin was a French theologian living in Geneva, Switzerland; Martin Luther was a German theologian, pastor and father of the Protestant Reformation. They had some differences on some significant points of doctrine, but otherwise they held each other in high regard. Historically speaking.
> 
> Written for the John Calvin Jubilee, July 2009 and for my own amusement, obviously.
> 
> No disrespect is intended. Maybe some irreverence. Just a little.

**Myth 1: John Calvin was a religious fanatic.**  
He steals into the library with more stealth than his heavy body and aging joints should allow. He’s familiar with libraries, and knows how to move around the edges, avoiding notice from readers and eagle-eyed librarians. However, the _purpose_ of his visit holds not, well, perhaps the most righteous of intents; for that he feels a smidge of guilt, maybe of shame as well. But his overwhelming curiosity about the man has driven him to travel all this way to Geneva. He has to know. He _has_ to.

The reading room of the central library is large. Even this early in the morning the room is nearly full and a veritable beehive of intellectual activity. Students are bent over large volumes on large tables, diligently writing; the librarian’s wooden shoes click softly on the stone floor as he circulates between tables, eager to catch any wrong doing, any spec of ink that may infect the precious volumes in his care. The chains attaching the large books to the tables rattle as a student moves it to catch the feeble light thrown from too-few lanterns. He looks up, apology etched on his face, then returns to his reading.

Martin Luther, easily the most famous of all the Reformation theologians, breathes a sigh of relief as the student doesn’t recognize him, _or maybe he is a little miffed at the slight_. He’s wearing German-made dark brown robes and a smaller brimmed cap that give him away as a visitor. But if he sticks to the shadows, stays out the way, keeps his head down he’ll be fine. He’s not here to call attention to himself; he’s here to observe.

Luther looks around, spotting his quarry at a far table. It’s larger than the students’ tables, probably to accommodate his status as a professor and preacher. In profile he’s smaller than Luther thought. Those who have been telling him about this young French upstart were correct, though. Thin-faced, scrubby bearded, a nose much too long: John Calvin is not a handsome man.

Suddenly, Calvin yawns, pushes away from the table and stands. Several students look up at the sound of wood on stone; they watch their teacher carefully as he strides around the table to speak quietly to a young man at another table. Calvin smiles at him ( _Interesting,_ Luther thinks) and then, puts a friendly hand on the other’s shoulder, giving it a long, seemingly affectionate squeeze. Then with a wave to the other readers and to the librarian, Calvin walks out of the library.

 _Luther continues his wandering around the library, looking at books and returning them to the shelf. Then, with one eye on the librarian, he slides over to Calvin’s table and looks at the books stacked neatly on the corner._

 _A Bible-- _no surprise there_ \--a commentary ( _MINE! Well, would you look at that?_ )--and books on astronomy, humanism and medicine. The open book, the one Calvin had just been reading was the latest treatise about the humours of the body._

Luther makes sure he’s reading the titles correctly. _Well, this IS surprising._ He’d heard Calvin reads nothing but religious texts; clearly, though, the man has much broader interests.

 _Damn._ The upstart impresses him.

 **Myth 2: John Calvin was a tyrant.**

From the balcony, high above the main classroom, Martin settles into the uncomfortable wooden pew, pulling his cap a little lower over his eyes. Two students, or other spies, observers or–-God forbid—followers of Calvin are with him. They give him surprised looks, probably trying to sort out why he, the original father of the Reformation, is sitting in on the lecture by the young French teacher. What could _he_ learn that he himself hasn’t already written or preached on. Martin gives them a cheeky grin, and places his finger on his lips. They nod knowingly and smile.

Calvin, he quickly learns, is a quiet speaker. However, the room is silent save for the scratching of quills across cheap paper. Luther’s grasp of spoken French is sketchy at best, but what he’s been able to understand is acceptable. Calvin’s scholarship and grasp of Scriptural knowledge is sound.

However, Luther is not here to learn what Calvin thinks—he’s read the man’s writings—but rather he wants to _know_ the slight, thin, dour-looking man at the front of the classroom.

A student raises his hand, bringing Calvin’s flow of words to a halt. _This should be interesting._ Luther’s heard Calvin hates to be interrupted, hates to be contradicted, hates to enter into conversation with students. But instead, Calvin pauses, sighs, and calls on the student.

The student’s voice rings out. Luther gathers that he disagrees with Calvin’s point. When the student rises out of his seat, his voice rises as well. Luther watches Calvin’s reaction. The man’s face remains impassive, but attentive; a hint of a smile crosses thing lips. Then another student rises, objecting to his compatriot’s comments with finger-pointing and gestures and loud talking. Luther leans forward as it appears Calvin is losing control of his class.

“Mes amis! Mes amis!” Calvin says, his hands uplifted. _Let us consider wisely your arguments. You both raise valid points._

Luther remains riveted as Calvin repeats and analyses the points raised by the two students, then allows each in turn to respond. He’s impressed with how gently Calvin corrects the students, how politely he accepts their opinions. _I shall consider your argument. You make a good case. Class members, as part of your assignment you are to consult the writings of Saint Augustine and Anselm to clarify the arguments raised today._

Luther rubs his eyes. This is not an autocratic teacher, but one such as himself—open to new ideas and building new ways of thinking in community.

 _Damn._ He’s really impressed. Damn upstart.

 **Myth 3: John Calvin was a dour, grumpy person.**

Martin lifts the stein of cold beer to his lips and watches as Calvin moves easily through the tavern, greeting politicians who wear stylish robes, well-to-do businessman wearing velvet caps with large feathered plumes, and men in rough homespun—obviously not scholars, but common labourers and salt-of-the-earth types—equally. He doesn’t linger long with each, but long enough to exchange pleasantries. All treat him with respect and even some affection. It’s not until he reaches a table with two other men, both dressed in the same plain black linen robes, that Luther sees Calvin come alive.

Calvin, not a handsome man in any estimation, gives the two supper companions a broad, toothy smile; the dour pinched look disappears. He greets each man with a formal kiss and a warm hug. One man is short with a wide shining face; the other, quite handsome, almost pretty, with apple-kissed cheeks and bright blue eyes. Calvin’s hand remains on this man’s shoulder a tad long. There is undeniable sentiment reserved for this one.

The three dinner companions lift their cups in a salute and drain them quickly. They are drinking rich red wine. Calvin then reaches for the loaf of bread before him, tears off a large piece, then slathers butter and honey on it thickly. He eats with relish; Luther can almost hear a contented sigh. He knows the honey butter spread here in the tavern is very good, having eaten a fair portion himself. The serving wench comes by with large bowls of pork stew and vegetables. Even though he’s finished his dinner, his stomach gives an appreciative growl. He rubs it absentmindedly.

The handsome man pours more wine into Calvin’s cup, and then hands him more bread. They all pause while Calvin offers a blessing for the food, a very brief one. Then one of them says something, and they share a laugh—even Calvin laughs!—and they eat.

Luther sees that Calvin does not hold back his appreciation for the food. He eats with gusto, taking large bites from the chunk of meat. Elegant, long fingers grasp a chunk of bread, dipping it into the gravy. His eyes close at one point as he chews. He’s very much enjoying it. He licks those impossibly long fingers; a pink tongue licks gravy-covered lips. Relaxed, Calvin regains a youthful, almost carefree appearance. He smiles, and the smile reaches his eyes. Luther nearly drops his mug. He watches as Calvin drains yet another glass of wine; a small dribble trickles down the left side of his face. He touches it and laughs with his friends as he daubs his face with the serviette.

Luther gulps, then lick his own lips, wishing that it was his mouth that was licking the-- _Did I just think that?_ He downs the rest of the beer, and motions to the serving wench for another. _Dear God, I did not just want to lick Calvin’s fingers. Did I?_ He rubs his face with his hands. The beer arrives in record time, and Luther takes several long gulps.

 _Damn upstart. DAMN HIM!_

 **Myth 4: John Calvin was a prude who thought sex was bad.**

It’s nearly dark, and while the Swiss summer sun isn’t due to set for another goodly hour, it really has been a long day for an old man such as himself. Especially trying to keep up with the more youthful Calvin. It is rumoured Calvin suffers from hookworms and pains in his joints, but Luther doesn’t see any evidence of affliction. In fact the French theologian seems to have boundless energy. Having watched Calvin eat like a teenager, run a debate like a master of rhetoric, and appreciate fine food and good books, Luther is ready to call it a day. A warm bed and a large brandy are calling to him.

Yet, something keeps Luther from abandoning his quarry, continues to beckon him to follow Calvin like a hunting dog to the end of _his_ day. He rubs his aching lower back as he walks a considerable distance behind Calvin. He’s also composing in his mind a scathing letter to the idiot he paid to spy on Calvin for him, and demand the scallywag return the money. He did not know whom the ass had watched for two weeks because the man in the report was nothing like the one Luther himself has tailed this day. He finds himself liking the audacious and radical theologian more and more. Even though he is _French_.

Luther follows Calvin down a deserted alley near the edge of the town, and watches as he enters a horse stable. _Ahhh! Now we’re getting somewhere. He likes horses as well as good wine. What not to like? I have great regard for a scholar who appreciates our most noble creatures._

Luther goes round to the rear of the stable where he finds a doorway darkened by shadow, and slips in. He’s bulky, but the door-- _Thank Christ!_ \--is well-oiled and opens smoothly. He quickly moves behind one of the far stalls, and spots Calvin near the front. He squints, but sees him rubbing the nose of a beautiful horse. The light is dim inside, but the stable is very nice, with beautifully made wooden stalls filled with quietly snuffling and whinnying horses. Calvin moves through the stable slowly, long fingers trailing over the polished wood features. He moves regard a tapestry hanging on a wall; Calvin looks at it appreciatively, examining the colours and fine craftsmanship.

“Jean.” Luther hears Calvin’s given name called. A young man—the handsome man from the tavern—comes out of the small stable office. Calvin approaches him and they embrace passionately. Finally, they part and the young man gives Calvin a kiss, which Calvin returns with equal force.

Luther is stunned. Maybe it’s the sight of two men kissing; maybe it’s that this is _Calvin_ , the hard-favoured, humourless frog, kissing a gorgeous man. He’s not sure. Calvin’s companion pulls him aside to a stall, though the door is left open.

Luther, without thinking, moves quietly towards them; God help him but his feet seem to move of their own accord. He reaches the stall and for the life of him, he cannot help but peer around the open door.

They are sitting in clean, fragrant hay, kissing. Calvin no longer wears the silly cap, and he has a full head of curling, glossy hair. _Damn him!_ comes to mind as he thinks about his own bald pate. Then, the young man tugs on Calvin’s robes, opening them; his hand slips inside, and Calvin gives a soft moan.

All rational thought retreats in Luther’s mind. Later, he would not be able to swear what came next. He’s not sure if it was Calvin’s moan or his that then filled that stable; he’s not sure if the two lovers are startled, but he thinks there was some rapid French spoken, two identical, rather wicked grins, and then two hands that reach for his. He’s not sure if he was drawn into that stall, his clothes removed, his lips kissed, his body touched. He’s not sure if it was his or someone else’s fingers that closed around his throbbing cock, and he’s definitely not sure if he came to ecstatic cries in French and German.

He's not sure but he thinks he remembers the breathy words in his ear: “If I cannot influence you with my words, perhaps I can impress you with my cock, _non_?” He thinks, but is not sure.

All he knows is that he has ended up in a warm bed, sleeping better than he’s done in years, with a black Genevan cap on the bedside table.


End file.
